All Haros' Eve
by Mettool
Summary: A fanfiction about easily the most important character of SEED: Mr. Pink. Up to Chapter 6 complete. Takes place after SEED, but before SEED Destiny on a somewhat alternate timeline.
1. There is problem!

All Haros' Eve

A Gundam SEED fanfiction by Mettool

NOTE: I do not own any of the characters, places, or other pre-existing material in Gundam SEED. This is a story based off of the aforementioned material.

_Prelude_

It is Year 71 of the Cosmic Era. The long and truly gruesome Bloody Valentine War had finally come to a welcome end thanks to the efforts of war heroes such as Kira Yamato and Athrun Zala. Millions of lives were lost over the course of a year, and many more were wounded and crippled for life. Never in the course of human history had such a vile, bloody war claimed the lives of millions and irresponsibly squandered precious resources. At last, the galaxy has been blessed with a short era of respite. As negotiations between the Earth Forces and the Zaft Organization continue, civil movements to end the discrimination between naturals and coordinators march forth in success. As the two races begin to understand and accept one another a new, unsuspecting faction is rising: a faction which does not discriminate by any means…

Chapter 1: "There is problem!"

The Clyne mansion is enjoying yet another peaceful day in the Plants' artificial sunshine. The garden is especially tranquil, with bluebirds singing their alluring elegies and the angel-white rhododendrons offering their petals as shelter for busy bees in the morning mist. In a nearby flowerbed under the white, woven archway, a goddess-like figure is kneeling down. Her peach-pink hair tussles in the breeze as she rests her hand on her blue skirt. She is sporting a white bolero and silver necklaces of many shapes and lengths: quite unusual attire for someone who is watering the foliage.

"Oh my! You guys are especially thirsty today, aren't you?" she asks the flowers. "Well I'll make sure you stay nice and healthy!"

A young, blue-haired boy in a red Zaft pilot's uniform approaches her her behind. "You're always tending to your garden, aren't you?" he asks with a smug attitude. "Don't you want to come relax and enjoy the sunshine with me? We do have a gardener for this kind of thing, Lacus."

"Oh Athrun!" Lacus exclaims alarmingly, yet maintaining an innocent smile. "But you know how I enjoy gardening! I feel so much more connected with nature when I'm watering the flowers. In this day and age when so many things are artificial and formulated, it's important to appreciate what came before mankind! And besides, the gardener is probably too busy with the repairs on the house!"

"Nature? But the Plants are artificial… We're living in a man-made environment!"

"Oh, you're such a pessimist, Athrun!" she said, raising her voice ever so slightly. She pouted with the plam of her hand onto the pavement she was kneeling upon. "I wish you could see things for their beauty!"

"I really don't think of these things. I mean, there's really no reason to be such a sissy about some weeds…" Athrun said disapprovingly. He adjusted the collar on his uniform.

Lacus looked down at the ground, clenching her fist. "You always were that way… but I guess I can't really change that. I mean, you still wear that uniform. You still have the battle-hardened mind of a soldier. The war's been over for almost two months now, Athrun." She began to smile at him. "Please… come sit with me and relax a little. It worries me so much when you're so tense and serious."

Athrun grunted under his breath. He tightly clenched his fist inside of his glove. He could feel the sweat drizzling down his pores into the palm of his hand. He began to think to himself: Even though the war was over, he still felt it was his duty to uphold the laws of being a soldier. Athrun continued to don the insignia of Zaft each and every day, and felt he was obligated to do so. There was no "Time of peace" to Athrun: there was always a reason to be on guard and to be alert. With his father dead, he felt it was his duty to protect the people of the Plants, as to never allow such a prejudicial tragedy ever happen again. However, he could not adequately express these reasons to Lacus through the art of language. Frustrated, he turned around with a sigh and walked away, towards to back door of the mansion.

"That man… always living his life following what he believes," she said with a heavy sigh. "But least I can count on you, Mr. Pink!"

At that moment, a pink Haro rolled out from a nearby bush, dusted lightly with soil and sprinkled with dew. He smelled of cedar and wood shavings. "Happy! So Happy!" he chirped in an electronic voice.

"What do you think, Mr. Pink? Do you think he'll ever change?" asked Lacus.

"Noooo problem!" he replied, flapping his ears.

Lacus picked up Mr. Pink in her hands. "Well I think you're just agreeing with me, aren't you? Well, that's why I can always count on you, Mr. Pink!"

Mr. Pink looked at Athrun as he walked into the mansion's back door. He hopped out of Lacus' hands to do a quick somersault.

"Oh, but how I wish he would change… I want him to relax and be happy. Athrun should see the world for how beautiful it is: not for its imperfections! I really want him to change. He seems so miserable. I want to change him," Lacus said with a wishful tone. She looked puzzled for a moment, for she heard a "click" sound from below not too long after.

Later that night at dinner, Lacus and Athrun were enjoying a supper of swordfish with a ginger garnish. The silence was only interrupted by the clicks and clatters of eating utensils against the porcelain china. The two do not exchange words: only quick glances. Lacus passed a friendly smile to Athrun. He merely returned with a brief, emotionless smirk, avoiding eye contact. She finally decided to break the silence.

"Has everything been okay lately, Athrun?" she asked. Her voice was filled was concern and doubt.

Athrun opened his eyes and put down his fork. He stared for a moment and then grunted. "Everything is fine," he said quickly and returned to his meal.

"Are you sure? You seem very… tense lately," she pressed further.

"I said everything is _fine_!" he raised his voice to her. "Can't we enjoy one dinner in peace and quiet for a change?"

Lacus looked down at her plate and sobbed under her breath.

Athrun continued: "Why have you been so bothersome in my personal life lately? Just leave well enough alone, alright?!"

Lacus began to raise her voice as well. "I'm not trying to be bothersome! I'm sorry if it seems that way, but I'm just worried about you is all. I don't like it when you're unhappy because then _I_ feel unhappy!"

Athrun lowered his voice a bit, and seemed a bit more tolerant. "Well, I'm sorry you feel that way. But this is just who I am… I can never take it easy. And that is because life is not to be taken easy. I hope you can understand my point of view, Lacus."

Just then, Mr. Pink rolled in from the living room and bounced in front of Athrun. "Problem! Problem! There is problem!"

Athrun violently emerged from his seat and stared down at Mr. Pink, his face filled with rage.

"Happy! Be Happy! Problem! Be Happy!" said Mr. Pink, rolling back and forth. He then made a "click" noise, and played the following in Lacus' voice: "Oh, but how I wish he would change… I want him to relax and be happy. Athrun should see the world for how beautiful it is: not for its imperfections! I really want him to change. He seems so miserable. I want to change him."

Athrun grabbed his hair and made a loud, frustrated cry. "So you want to CHANGE me?!" he yelled at the top of his lungs. He then swooped Mr. Pink off of the floor and kicked him with the full force of his muscle behind him. Mr. Pink slammed into the wall with a crack, leaving a huge crack in the plaster. He ricocheted off and landed across the room. Athrun picked him up again.

"Athrun! Stop!" Lacus screamed.

"Stop?! Why should I stop! This is who I am and you can't do a goddamn thing to change it!" He brought Mr. Pink over to the table and drenched him in the gravy bowl made of fine glass. He then violently flipped over the bowl over Mr. Pink and pile-drove it with his elbow. He ran out of the dining room, yelling at the top of his lungs and slammed the door behind him, shattering its glass window. Lacus subsequently ran in the opposite direction towards her bedroom, her face red and crying.

Mr. Pink, seemingly unharmed, rolled down off of the table and onto the floor, staring at the glass door that Athrun shattered. He stared for quite a while, rolling back and forth very slightly, humming.

"There is problem," he said, his eyes glowing red. He opened his mouth and bore his sharp teeth. "Must fix."


	2. You too!

All Haros' Eve

A Gundam SEED fanfiction by Mettool

NOTE: I do not own any of the characters, places, or other pre-existing material in Gundam SEED. This is a story based off of the aforementioned material.

Chapter 2: "You too!"

Atrhun continued to storm towards his bedroom yelling nonsensical curses at the top of his lungs. Severeal repairmen and engineers peered into the hallway from their respective rooms, confounded at the ruckus that Athrun was causing. As he furiously marched down the corridor, he flailed his arms around and twitched spastically. He finally arrived at his bedroom door, which he violently swung open and slammed behind him with a juggernaut-like force. The workers started whispering to one another, gossiping about what they had just saw.

In the bedroom, Athrun threw himself onto his bed, practically foaming at the mouth. His eyes were filled with boiling, rippled tears and his face began to turn red with hatred. He pounded onto the mattress with his fist several times, in some bizarre hope that it would somehow change everything. To his side was an end table adorned with a very regal clock and lamp. Under the lampshade there was a picture of Athrun beside Lacus, with another young boy to Lacus' side. The boy donned a black Heliopolis school uniform, which complimented his neatly-trimmed brown hair.

"Kira…" Athrun muttered to himself. "Kira, why couldn't I be more like you? Always fighting for what is right. Always thinking things through before acting. And yet you are such a stupid crybaby, Kira. But you're the crybaby who saved us all… and saved me."

The tears in his eyes began to trickle down his cheek. "And look at what I am now! I'll never change… and I don't want to change! I'm not going to save the world by crying like you did!"

Athrun let out an earth-shattering scream. It was a scream full of hate and envy. After a time, he fell into his pillow and started yelling into that, too. The muffled cry could be heard rooms away.

The bedroom door clicked behind him and creaked ajar ever so slight, perhaps enough to let a cat inside or slip a letter through the crack. Athrun did not notice, and stared at the picture on the table, never even resting to blink. The door clicked again shut, and then a third time to lock. Athrun noticed this time and assumed it was someone checking in on him briefly.

Suddenly, his view was rudely obstructed by a large, pink object. "There is problem!" it screamed.

Athrun jutted up with a shock from the pillow, sweat trickling down his forehead. "Ah! Oh… it's you, Mr. Pink. What the hell do you want now? Do you have another sick, twisted message for me?"

"Problem! Problem! There is problem!" Mr. Pink shouted as he bounced up and down. "Problem!"

"Problem? PROBLEM?! You think there's a _PROBLEM_?! What was your first goddamn clue! If I had known you were such a fucking dunce, I would have programmed you to actually think!" Athrun screamed at Mr. Pink.

"You too! Dunce! Dunce! You too!" Mr. Pink replied, not realizing the consequences.

Athrun jumped out the bed and kicked Mr. Pink a second time. Mr. Pink slammed into the picture on the table, shattering the frame and the glass entirely, and landed on the floor near the bed. "Stupid, simple-minded toy. Why did I even build you in the first place?"

Mr. Pink rolled upright and played a fragment of Lacus' recording. "I want to change him!" He then reverted to his regular voice and sputtered as his eyes glowed a deep red. "Change! Change! There is problem! Must fix! Must change!"

Athrun yelled at him again. "I don't want to change! I am who I want to be!"

"Must change! Must change!" Mr. Pink opened his mouth, almost splitting into two halves. Four sharp, scythe-like blades emerged from a central column inside of him into the cardinal directions, began to spin and rotate, forming a menacing saw blade. "Fix now! Change! Change!" he shouted, his voice pitching deeper and unusually sinister. "FIX NOW!"

Several hours later, Lacus was walking down the hallway, holding her head in one hand. "I really need to talk to him. He's just going to have to sit down and listen to me one way or another!" she said to herself, staring at the floor. She turned down the corridor towards the direction of Athrun's room, and then something took her by surprise: Athrun's door was sealed off with police tape and barricades. Several police officers were standing over the barricades into the bedrooms, and a few more were in the bedroom itself. The inside of the door and the rug near the archway were stained red.

Lacus gasped and began to run towards the scene. As she ran, she passed by several mechanics having a discussion, and briefly heard key words such as "murder" and "suicide" from among them. When she arrived at the door, a police officer stopped her.

"Oh, Miss Clyne, I presume," he said. "Unfortunately, I was hoping you wouldn't show up until after we finished cleaning this up."

"Clean up! What are you talking about? Did Athrun spill something? Did he make a mess? I don't see why spilling something would require the police to help…" she continued on and on.

"Well… no. It's not like he spilled something. It's more like something spilled _him_." He replied with a confused look on his face. "I'm gonna have to ask you to turn around and wait until we're done here. It isn't pretty."

"I don't understand what you mean! Something spilled him? That makes no sense!" She said, raising her voice as she hopped over the barricade and under the yellow tape. The officers made minimal effort to stop her, fearing that attempting to stop a celebrity like Lacus Clyne would put a severe dent in their service record. "Don't say we didn't warn you," one of them shouted to her as she entered.

Lacus' jaw dropped in astonishment as she began to understand what the officer meant. The entire room was splattered in blood. It stained the rug and was smeared all over the walls and furniture. The entire room reeked of death and rot. Lacus' shoes popped off the floor with a sticky crinkle for every step she took. Even the lamp was drenched in human blood: the light bulb filtered into a dark red which projected onto the walls most abominably.

Lacus looked around the room in fright. He eyes carried here in all sorts of directions. And she observed further and further, she noticed even more vile sights: There was a human arm on the bed, and a bleeding lung on the floor. Several other unidentifiable organs lay strewn on the walls, leaking body fluids or on the ground in pools of blood. And then she what she was hoping not to see: Athrun's mangled, massacred body laying upright in the corner. His chest was ripped open most barbarically, as splintered ribs and his remaining organs sagged out from the cavity. His arm was ripped right out of its joint and the muscle hung bare from his shoulder. Athrun's body looked completely inhuman, hardly identifiable with the extreme lacerations he sustained and his mangled face. Strangely, someone had taken the effort to carve an exaggerated mustache into his upper lip with a sharp instrument.

Lacus stared at the corpse in disbelief. Her thoughts raced through her head, scattered and disjointed. She wanted to cry right there and then, but was still in far too much shock to even begin to summon the tears to do so.

"Murder, they're saying," said a voice from behind her. It was the chief officer of the investigation squad.

Lacus turned around, stuttering. Her lip trembled and her hands shook timidly. "B…b…but wh-who would? Whhhh---why? And…"

"We have no suspects as of yet. The killer only left two pieces of evidence. The first is that mustache carved into his lip. And the second is that wall behind you."

Lacus turned around as the officer pointed behind her. "Fixed problem! Changed!" was crudely written in the wall with blood. It dripped and ran down the wall, as if the plaster itself was bleeding.

"It seems like whoever was responsible for this saw Mr. Zala as a problem. I'm not exactly sure who would think that of him, especially since he was one of the heroes who ended the war. Perhaps it was a renegade who supported his father's anti-natural ideals. But like I said, we have no idea right now."

Lacus said nothing. There was far too much on her mind to even begin of the words to reply with. Instead, she turned around and hopped back over the barricade, leaving the crime scene.

Lacus cried in her bedroom for almost an hour, hardly able to cope with the fact that Athrun had died in such a horrid manner. She began to think about people and murder… and why some people feel that progress can only be achieved through the death of another. Lacus' face was red with mourning, almost the same color of Mr. Pink, who hopped onto the bed a moment later.

"Mr. Pink… why do people have to kill one another to prove a point? Why is the sacrifice of human life considered necessary to advance an ideal? I know that not everyone is like that… but why are there people who believe this is right?" she asked Mr. Pink, hiccupping and sobbing.

Mr. Pink rolled back and forth. "There is problem!" he said.

"Yes… I guess there is a problem with so many people. I wish we could all live peacefully in a world without murder and killing… I want everyone to change. I don't want any more victims like Athrun. It's just so sad that we can't do anything to change it. People need to drop these ideals. Everyone must change so we can get along!"

"So we can get along!" Mr. Pink repeated back to Lacus. He then hopped off the bed and into the hallway, staring at the crime scene further down. Behind him were a group of repairmen being questioned by the officers. Mr. Pink focused on them, his eyes glowing red.

"Everyone must change." He muttered softly.


	3. Big Brother!

All Haros' Eve

A Gundam SEED fanfiction by Mettool

NOTE: I do not own any of the characters, places, or other pre-existing material in Gundam SEED. This is a story based off of the aforementioned material.

Chapter 3: "Big brother!"

"We now bring you live to the scene of this horrible tragedy," said a woman's voice most professionally. The scene on Yzak Joule's TV cut away to a familiar-looking mansion. "The Clyne mansion: home of one of the Plants' top celebrities, Lacus Clyne. A normally tranquil estate with vast gardens and a beautiful ocean view. It is the last place anyone would suspect a series of gruesome murders to take place. Field reporter Alex Tyrell has the story. Alex?"

"Thank you, Trish," said the strapping young reporter, shielding his face from the sunlight while standing in front of the mansion's front door. The door behind him is riddled with glossy police tape, reflecting the subtle gleam of the flashing police cars to the side. "Tragedy struck this beautiful home earlier today when it was discovered that Athrun Zala, the war hero of the Bloody Valentine War and the son of the late chairman Patrick Zala, was murdered in his bedroom."

Yzak, a silver-haired young coordinator with a rugged face scar, jutted out of his seat on the couch at that moment. "Athrun?!" he yelled, hoping in some respect that the reporter could hear him.

"The police currently have no suspects. Suicide has been ruled out as a possibility, based on the extremely mangled condition of the body. Only two clues were left by the killer. The first, and perhaps the most unusual, is a crudely-shaped mustache carved into the victim's upper lip with a sharp instrument. The second is a message left by the killer on the wall, written in the victim's own blood. It reads 'Fixed problem! Changed!' Police currently do not know what this message means, or what link it has to the killer's motive."

"So Athrun is dead, is he?" Yzak said, clenching his fist. "After all he did for us… someone out there still holds onto their prejudicial beliefs. What a world we live in…"

"It is also reported that several hours later, the bodies of four police officials and three construction workers were found piled up in a corridor drenched in their own blood. Their bodies were just as violated as that of Athrun Zala's, and each body bore the killer's signature mustache wound. Other messages were scribbled into the wall with their blood." Reported the news agent. The camera showed several pictures from different angles of the killer's wall messages. "Problem! Problem!" was crudely smeared on one wall and "Big problem!" on another. On the floor, "Fix problem! Change!" was stained into the rug, among other strangely-shaped blood stains. The victim's bodies were blurred out whenever they found their way into the snapshots as well as other objects on the floor, presumably severed organs and limbs, as the pixilated blots were either red or flesh-colored. "If anyone has any information about these mysterious killings, please contact th- *click*"

Yzak took his thumb off the remote's power button and placed it on the coffee table. "The man killed a million nameless troops in his mobile suit but he couldn't kill a man in his own bedroom. Pitiful…"

Back at the Clyne mansion, the police officers were nervously cleaning up the second murder scene in the hallway. Tensions were high, and the officers were talking amongst themselves, spreading rumors and old wives' tales about cannibal ghosts and angry spirits who kill without reason. The chief quickly dispelled any such conversation wherever he heard it.

Mr. Pink happened to be rolling down the hallway and, without watching where he was going, bumped into the chief's foot with a thud. The chief looked down and smiled at the innocent toy. "Well, isn't this a bit of comic relief in this gruesome mystery?" he said as he bent at the knees to pick him. He grabbed Mr. Pink and inspected him carefully.

"Problem! Problem! There is problem!" Mr. Pink chirped, flapping his ears.

The chief chuckled and scratched his mustache. "Haha! Little fella must have read what was written on the wall. Quite an intelligent little bugger, eh?" He patted Mr. Pink on the head.

One of the other officers commented. "It's a pretty unusual thing to write on the wall after slaughtering seven fully-grown men. Whoever this killer is, he must have the mind of a child, sir."

"And the shriveled-up balls of a tranny in Harlem if you ask me," retorted the chief. "He must have been so insecure about witnesses that he killed the first group of people he saw. They say that once you taste your first kill, the urge keeps on hungering… feeding away at your sanity until you're nothing more than a vicious killing machine. That's why so many psychos never live normal lives once they get the hell out of prison… where they belong."

"Well, about the message, sir…"

"Oh yes, the message. What was I talking about again?"

"Something about transsexuals in Harlem. But uhm… yeah. What is this 'problem' the killer keeps referring to?"

"Who the hell knows? We don't even have any leads or motives…"

"Problem! Problem!" Mr. Pink chimed in as he did a cartwheel in mid-air.

"Well, whatever this 'problem' is that the killer is trying to deal with, he sure as hell isn't going to do it on his own," the chief said without acknowledging Mr. Pink.

"I don't understand, sir. Aren't most problems solved on one's own? Like, personal problems?" the naïve officer inquired.

"Shut your trap and think about it," the chief replied with a harsh tone. "People who solve the sort of 'problems' they face by killing others can't possibly do it on their own. If they do, they eventually run the risk of being caught and overpowered by those who oppose their viewpoints. That's why so many rogue serial killers and thieves get caught and thrown into jail: it's because of more numerous and powerful forces that stop them with strength alone… forces like our very police force. You are a part of that bigger power. Don't forget that."

"So we are a small part of a bigger ideal?" the young officer asked.

"Exactly. Getting your viewpoint or ideal across is a huge matter of numbers. One person alone cannot change anything if he or she simply goes around killing people without a plan. If change is what they desire, they need to share their view and influence other people to join their cause. That's why power always wins in this world. The more support of others you have, the better your chance of carrying out that ideal. Look at the late Patrick Zala… he persuaded millions to fight for a cause that wasn't right. Even though the ideal was wrong, it carried through because he was able to convince so many other people that his way was the right way. People can always solve a 'problem' quicker when there are more people involved. And the more, the better."

Mr. Pink hopped in the chief's hand. "More is better! Better! Better!" he quipped ecstatically.

"See? Even a simple gadget with no sense of organization understands that!" The chief said, smiling. He put Mr. Pink back onto the floor.

"Well, I just hope our killer isn't smart enough to organize…," the reluctant officer stated.

Mr. Pink rolled down the hallway at full speed towards Lacus' room. The door to her bedroom was opened just a crack. Mr. Pink peered in with one eye. Lacus was writing a letter at her desk with her green Haro rolled back and forth on it, chirping "Happy today! So bright!" Several other Haros in all sorts of colors were on the floor playing leapfrog.

Lacus put down her inked quill. The feather was colorful and exotic. "I haven't written a letter to Mr. Yamato in some time. There's something about hand-written letters that brings a sense of comfort to people when they read them."

She laid her head of her stretched-out arm on the desk. "All these strange happenings lately in my own home… I'm surprised they haven't asked me to leave this house yet. I guess they'll have me move to another place shortly…. Oh, I do hope it's nice!" she said dreamingly. "And of course, you'll all come with me to keep me company, right?"

The Haros all jumped up in unison, chirping random chatter and fragmented sentences. Lacus smiled, feeling loved by her many friends. Even though they were just machines, they felt like family to her.

Lacus stood up out of the chair and breathed heavily through her nose. "I suppose I have time to take a shower before they ask me to leave… you guys all behave while I'm gone, okay?" she asked with a giggle. The Haros rolled around and bounced as they chattered in reply.

Mr. Pink felt Lacus' footsteps through the rug as she approached the door. He slipped behind a nearby corner in a flash. Lacus walked out of her room with a pair of thick, white towels and headed towards the bathroom, humming to herself. Mr. Pink slipped into the bedroom after the coast was clear.

"Big brother!" The green Haro called out to Mr. Pink upon noticing him. The other Haros followed suit not long after.

"There is problem!" Mr. Pink said, looking around the room. "Biiiig problem!"

The other Haros formed in a line in front of Mr. Pink, and looked at one another. The navy-blue Haro broke the silence. "Problem! Is there problem?"

Mr. Pink jumped up and spun around. "Big problem!" he played a recording of Lacus' voice.

"I want everyone to change. I don't want any more victims like Athrun. It's just so sad that we can't do anything to change it. People need to drop these ideals. Everyone must change so we can get along!"

The blue Haro was the first to speak after the recording. "Change!"

Mr. Pink nodded. "Must change everyone! Must fix problem!"

"So we can all get along!" added the green Haro.

The line of Haros, about fifteen or so in all, nodded to one another. They each opened one ear flap, revealing their mechanical arms. They saluted Mr. Pink in unison, their eyes glowing red. "Big Brother!" the Haros called in respect.

Mr. Pink saluted back and played a quick recording of the police chief: "And the more, the better."


	4. I am fine and you are, too!

All Haros' Eve

A Gundam SEED fanfiction by Mettool

NOTE: I do not own any of the characters, places, or other pre-existing material in Gundam SEED. This is a story based off of the aforementioned material.

Chapter 4: "I am fine and you are, too!"

It was late in the evening and the police crewmen were finally packing their things to call it a day. Reporters were scattered around the mansion's front terrace, eagerly questioning the police and interviewing the house staff. As the sun eased its way towards the horizon, the Corinthian columns and cobblestone walkway reflected a soothing orange tint. Sweat dotted the weary foreheads of everyone involved as a humid, muggy day drew to a close. Lacus sat quietly in the nearest gazebo writing in a small notepad. She put the pad day beside her and looked over at the terrace.

"To think, my own home would be the sight of two major conflicts in one year," she said to herself. "Most people would hate to have their home searched by the police even once in their lifetime. Perhaps I'm doing my part by taking the fall for someone else?"

Lacus stood up off the bench in the gazebo. She felt a small sense of accomplishment as she witnessed the walkway's sconce lights turn on, showering the yard in a gentle, tinted light. The Gazebo's single overhead lamp turned on as well. She began to think to herself about the situation. "It dosen't make any sense for the killer to carry out his slaughtering in broad daylight. Most criminals do their deeds at night… in secret. Perhaps Athrun's killer is not one to discriminate night from day. He or she must be a very bold personality, indeed."

Lacus looked out of the gazebo towards the front door. The police had ordered the house to be evacuated and be set off-limits until further notice. Spending the night in her own bed was out of the question at this point, but the police had yet to inform her of her temporary quarters. "It's still a little early for bed," Lacus said to herself. "Perhaps a song at the opera house will help calm me down…."

"…There is still very little new information as of yet on the murder of Athrun Zala. Police have been investigating the incident since early this afternoon, but there has been no word yet in terms of suspects, solid evidence, or motive. The Clyne mansion has been announced as off-limits to the general public until further notice. In other news, it has been reported that war hero Kira Yamato put a fork in an electrical socket today and- *click*" Yzak turned off the car radio, and switched to the interface to live speakerphone.

"Dearka, you there?" he shouted, keeping his eyes on the road in front of him.

"Yeah, what did you wake me up for?" a young man's annoyed voice answered back.

"I still call bullshit on this entire thing. There's no way Athrun could have gone and died this easily. Not without a fight, anyway."

"I don't know, Yzak, he always was kind of a pushover. Remember how hesitant he was during Operation Spitbreak? You could have threatened to kill him right there and then and he probably wouldn't have done anything to stop you. I always saw him as a pansy."

Yzak stopped at a red light on an intersection. Other than one car to the right, the road was completely tranquil. "I won't believe he's dead until I see this whole thing myself," he yelled back.

"I don't see why it's such a big deal. I mean… c'mon, people die every day. We hadn't talked to him in months, so it's not like…*yawwwn* I don't know. You know what I'm getting at, right?" Dearka's voice said, exhaustively.

"Wow, you really are an asshole. And after all that fighting you did with him and Kira. I guess it's because of all the hard work you've done since the war ended." Yzak's voice pitched to a higher, more sarcastic tone. "Oh! You know… playing all those video games and writing that book you'll never finish. Someone should suck the fat out of your head, Dearka."

The light turned green and Yzak strolled through.

"Hey, I'll have you know my book is coming along quite nicely. I wrote three whole paragraphs yesterday! You'll see, it'll be a best seller!" Dearka yelled back, frustrated. "Did you call me just to mock me?"

"No, dumbass, I called you to tell you to make your way over to the Lacus estate. We're going to see this for ourselves."

"Oh come ooooon," Dearka whined back at the top of his throat. "I don't wanna get involved in this stuff again…"

Yzak finally lost his patience. Dearka just wasn't the same since the war had ended. He figured that he made enough money in the service to live comfortably for the rest of his life and unofficially retired early. He would do small jobs here and there, but never anything substantial enough to be considered a career man. At the budding age of 18, most other boys would be entering college to prepare for the real world. Dearka felt he needed none of such rubbish.

"So _THIS_ is how you pay your respects to your former commander?! You sit on the couch and whine about leaving the house? Well, let me tell you something, Dearka. I still have my pride as a soldier _and_ my honor! Do you know what Athrun would do if he heard you acting like this? He'd…!" Yzak stopped to think for a second. He realized he had cornered himself during his scolding and tried his best to retain his composure "He'd… probably cry. Y-You would have made a grown man cry! Are you happy now?! Now get your sorry ass over to the Clyne mansion, and quit your bellyaching!"

Dearka sighed. "Fiiiine…" he said, unhappily, and hung up.

Yzak switched back to the car's radio, which was covering the latest sporting event of some indistinguishable merit. A tear of doubt filled his left eye as he cruised forward down the city road.

The sun was barely peering across the seascape as day finally gave way to night. The police officers and reporters had finished packing up their cameras and investigation equipment and were talking amongst themselves about what their plans for the evening were. Some were planning on hitting up a popular local bar for some fine Zaft brandy. Others were too tired to even approach the night life and looked forward to nothing more than a soft mattress to respite upon.

One of the reporters, a middle aged man with a brown bowler hat and a finely-groomed beard, was resting against a column close to the front door. He wrote furiously on a notepad in his right hand, scribbling barely-legible words onto it with the penmanship of a blind, illiterate beggar. His head perked up for a moment. He glanced over at the front door, feeling as though he heard an extremely faint humming crooning from behind its mahogany partitions. He dismissed it as nothing, and continued to write.

One of the officers sitting on the top stop of the walkway looked over at him. "Did you hear that?" he asked.

The man looked toward him. "So maybe it wasn't just me," he said, his facial expression unchanged.

"Well that doesn't make any sense… We ordered this house to be evacuated hours ago. There's no way there's still someone inside," replied the officer. He looked over at the chief. "Hey, chief! I think someone's still in there!"

The chief walked over to the other officer. "What are you sure? We searched the house up and down for people!"

The humming noise behind the door started to become more prominent. At first, it was a monotone, static-like hum. It started to grow louder and more audible. It now sounded like a static electronic chatter, with vague words and phrases being muttered through the wood by multiple identical voices. Louder it grew, and louder still. The man in the hat slowly drifted away from his reclining upon the column towards the door. He unconsciously found his feet planted in front of the doorway, staring face-to-face with it. Without a second though, he began to reach out his free hand towards the handle, as if it were being drawn to it by the voices themselves. The two officers stared at him in awe, almost as if they were expecting something to happen.

The moment the man with the hat wrapped his fingers around the handle, he found it forced back at him as the double doors crashed open with an echoing slam. The wooden doors slammed violently into the walls to Its side, leaving chipping holes where the metal handles had battered into. The man had only a second to look down, as he found Mr. Pink's "smiling" face peering back at him from below with hazing, red eyes. And not a second later had Mr. Pink opened his mouth to reveal the spinning scythe blade, lunging at the man's face like a rabid animal. The man screamed in agony as the blade tore through his face, ripping his lips apart and gutting his eyes out of their sockets. He fell to the ground below only to be mauled again by Mr. Pink, who was flinging globs of blood and chunks of flesh off of his blade as it spun.

As the man fought in vain to haul Mr. Pink off of his face, the two officers ran over to assist him. From behind the open door appeared a small battalion of Haros, each chanting nonsensical chatter as they started brandishing various weapons of different shapes and sizes. The green Haro, wielding a spinning machine gun, fired at the younger officer with nearly a dozen rounds per second. The bullets spewed forth from the Haro's mouth, piercing and jerking the officer's body around in a bloody slaughter. The orange Haro leapt upon the chief's face, clinging to his head with its arms and legs. The chief lay awestuck, stepping back in recoil as the orange Haro's mouth opened up to reveal a large power drill mere inches from his face. The drill started to spin at an astronomical speed and, not a moment later, gorged its way into the chief's brain and out the back of his head. A chunk of brain and shards of skull bone plopped down onto the ground at the chief's heels, followed by a running tap of blood. The orange Haro attempted to retract the drill, but it was stuck inside the chief's head. It continued to spin the drill, hoping to get it rotating again. The chief's neckbone snapped from the force of the drill, and the neck began to twist. The flesh on the chief's neck quickly ripped apart like linen and the Haro found the head now disembodied and spinning, still impaled on the drill and splurging a pinwheel of blood.

The other officers and reporters were in a violent uproar, screaming an panicking. Those who attempted to run away found themselves tackled to the ground by the speedy Haros, who took no time to bring their meaningless lives to a pitiful end. One officer had his heart ripped out by the blue Haro, who bore into his chest with a claw. A young reporter was dissected limb by limb by the red Haro, and finally beheaded with a sawblade. An older police officer had his backbone ripped in two by the purple Haro, who then proceeded to rip it from his back and shoved down his throat, rupturing his entire digestive tract. Death alone was not means to the Haros to finish with their targets: even after their victims had deceased, they continued to mangle their bodies in the most inane of ways. Some had their skin ripped from their faces while others were impaled with their own pocket knives. Only when they had carved a thick mustache into their victim's upper lip did they finish their work on each particular body.

Yzak found himself at the Clyne estate's front gates after a long drive. He felt exhausted, having driven for more than an hour and a half from his apartment. The driveway's gate was open, but had a thin line of police tape tied to each end. Yzak looked around from each angle and, noticing that there were no cops nearby, drove his car right through the tape which snapped effortlessly and drifted to the ground.

The drive up the pathway was a short one. Yzak pulled into the nearest spot in the small parking lot, which was cluttered with police cars and news vans. The parking lot was poorly lit, but Yzak managed to find his way to the walking path after the stepping out of the car.

"This place is just as gaudy as I remember it," Yzak said as he walked up through the garden path. The flowers had closed their petals for the night, and the evening cicadas were humming their somber elegies. The sky above was painted with puffs of maroon and dark blue: a common sight at the beginning of the night at the Plants. "I bet Athrun took care of all these flowers. Sissy."

Yzak turned the corner into the main path, which led directly to the mansion's front door. Something seemed incredibly sinister about the atmosphere. He felt uneasy as he looked into the distance towards the front door, which did not feel quite right. He couldn't make it out from where he was, but the end of the walkway seemed tinted in dark colors and blotched with indistinguishable figures. "I… I can't quite put my finger on it, but something feels off," he said to himself reluctantly.

As he walked closer to the door, the figures laying on the ground became more noticeable. They became more human-like in shape, and were surrounded by a glossy red liquid. "No… it can't be…" Yzak moaned in disbelief. He had come to a realization: they were human bodies, soaked in blood. He started to sprint towards the door and became more horrified with each step. More than two dozen bodies lay dead and mangled upon the cobblestone, each with a crude mustache gouged into their upper lip. The pavement and grass was stained red with death. The columns wept bloody tears and bore the trademark messengers of the killer. The pools of blood that flooded the ground seemed all the more sinister with the sconce light reflecting in them. Worst of all, the bodies were violated in the most horrible of ways. To Yzak, it was nightmare fuel, and it was a sight that no human should ever have to witness.

Yzak caught his breath as he finally reached the scene. He swallowed in his throat and stood aghast with his mouth flung open. "Wh…wh-what is …t-this? Who the hell could have DONE this?!" he yelled. "This is… this is unbelievable!"

Yzak knelt down over the nearest body and felt it's hand. "Still warm… this happened not even ten minutes ago," he deduced. The blood was still pouring from some of the corpses. He nearly stepped on the chief's head, which had a gaping hole carved through it's forehead. "The killer must still be nearby… but who could be capable of doing this?"

A moment later, Mr. Pink rolled out from behind the old reporter's corpse, donning the victim's bowler hat, now splattered with blood. "Fixed problem!" He said, flapping his ears.

Yzak's complexion changed in an instant. What was once a face stricken with horror was now an enlightened face of anger. "You… it was you, wasn't it?!" he screamed at Mr. Pink. "Why did you do this? You bastard! What is _wrong_ with you?!" Yzak stomped his foot and clenched his fist. "So Athrun's killer… was this glorified bowling ball?! You…you horrible, useless machine! Don't you feel any remorse for what you did?!"

Mr. Pink flapped his ears under the hat. "I am fine and you are, too!"


	5. So happy!

All Haros' Eve

A Gundam SEED fanfiction by Mettool

NOTE: I do not own any of the characters, places, or other pre-existing material in Gundam SEED. This is a story based off of the aforementioned material.

Chapter 5: So happy!

Mr. Pink hopped on top of the reporter's corpse and began teetering back and forth, gazing into Yzak's terrified face. "Happy! Soooo happy!" he quipped as he victoriously wrung the corpse's overcoat underneath. He flapped his ears up and down, innocently teetering.

Yzak stared at Mr. Pink. Even though he was at the start of his military career, he had fought some of the most fearsome opponents that mankind had to offer. Clashing swords with Kira Yamato in the X105 Strike was more action than even some of the most well-seasoned of soldiers could ever hope to experience. The deep, rigid scar emblazoned across his face constantly reminded him of the fierce enemies he had gunned down on the battlefield; and the wounds he had taken for what he believed in. The number of soldiers Yzak had brought to justice far too great for the human mind to keep track of. And now, before him, was the most fearsome and powerful opponent that a human could ever lay eyes on. The scathing pink shell of the foe before him gleamed menacingly. He looked into the eyes of Mr. Pink: they gleamed red like the blood of his most recent victims. A smug, deceptively innocent smile streamed across Mr. Pink's face. It was a horrible, lecherous grin full of hatred and devoid of any mercy or emotion. Looking at Mr. Pink sent a horrible chill throughout Yzak's body; the kind of chill a person could only feel when standing face to face with an embodiment of pure evil. Truly, it was a dreadful experience like no other.

"You… you disgusting little maggot." He muttered, looking down at the ground. "How could you?! HOW COULD YOOOOU?!"

Although Yzak was donning his spring coat and black track pants, he had still assumed the duties of an officer and, as such, had bought some of his equipment with him. He quickly reached his hand into his jacket and grabbed his pistol, almost on impulse. A tiny sliver of disbelief existed in him: that the ghastly slaughtering that lay before him was, in fact, caused by Mr. Pink. Still, he was in firm belief that there was no room to hesitate in this sort of situation and aimed the gun at Mr. Pink, still shivering in pure, mortal shock.

"I am fine and you are, too!" Mr. Pink exclaimed, hopping down from the now stiff corpse. He began to float slowly before Yzak, clapping his ears up and down, muttering Haroesque nonsense.

"D-don't you get any closer!" Yzak yelled. The pupils of his eyes began to shrink and retract in fear. Sweat dotted his brow as the gun shook unsteadily in his hand. "I'll _fucking do it_!"

Mr. Pink took no heed to such empty threats. "Problem! Problem? You have problem?" he chirped, steadily approaching Yzak.

"I said don't you _fucking_ get near me, you pink bastard! G-g-get…. GET AWAY! I'LL END THIS RIGHT NOW!"

"Whyyyy problem? Whyyy so serious?" he replied, teetering in his flight.

Mr. Pink was a mere yards length from Yzak now. Yzak took a step back in recoil, attempting to gain distance from the vicious pink offender. His arm shook with the fear of a thousand damned spirits of Tartarus, barely able to keep aim at Mr. Pink.

Mr. Pink continued his approach until he came within inches of the gun's barrel. He came to a sudden stop, no longer flapping his ears or chanting strange non-sequitors. He leered at Yzak in complete silence, as if he had been turned off.

Yzak looked back, clenching his teeth and watering at the eyes. His hair was beginning to clump and stick to his face from the sweat, and he could feel his arm going numb. The pistol seemed to grow heavier and colder as he bore it before Mr. Pink's grinning, unchanging face. In the seventeen short years of his life, he had never felt such a powerful fear as he did at that moment.

Mr. Pink broke the silence: "Why so serious?" he asked Yzak.

"I said _shut up!" _Yzak screamed back and pulled the trigger, blowing Mr. Pink onto the ground with an alarming bang. The gunshot echoed off the mansion door, making the act seemingly more brutal.

Mr. Pink rolled onto the ground a few feet away from Yzak, and lay there unmoving. A painful-looking hole bore between his eyes.

Yzak lowered the gun down to his side and twitched. His eyes began to water, and his hair was frazzled from the insurmountable amount of stress that he had felt over the last couple of minutes; minutes that seemed more like hours as they transpired. His knees felt weak, and fell to the ground on his knees, still shaking and trembling. A faint sound came to his ears… a very familiar sound.

He looked up from the ground towards where Mr. Pink lay dead. Through his hair he saw the broken-down body of the Haro stand upright. Mr. Pink's eyes glowed red, gleaming with resolve. The gaping bullet hole in his forehead melded shut, like liquid metal. It looked like he had not even been shot at all.

Yzak knelt silently, completely awestruck.

Mr. Pink muttered in a monotone voice: "Fix…. Problem…"

His mouth opened up, revealing the spinning scythes. Without a moment to spare, he immediately lunged at Yzak.

Yzak screamed and took cover to the ground, barely dodging Mr. Pink's first assault. As soon as he was able to recover his senses, he scrambled and stood upright. He aimed at gun again at Mr. Pink, who had landed on the other side of Yzak, and fired three shots directly at his forehead.

Mr. Pink took the shots unfalteringly, showing no immediate recoil or pain. He lunged a second time at Yzak, but was deflected by a blow from the gun's hand grip. He quickly recovered and came around in mid-air towards the young Coordinator a third time.

Yzak shot the last two useless bullets at Mr. Pink and realizing that the weapon was now effectively useless, threw the pistol at him. The murderous pink menace took a direct impact from the thrown weapon and was knocked out of the air to the cobblestone walkway. In a flash, he rolled upright and retracted the blades into his mouth. A moment later, the four barrels of a gatling gun peered out of Mr. Pink's mouth, and shot at the ground in front of Yzak.

Yzak danced around haphazardously, avoiding the machine gun fire. He scrambled to press a button on the wrist watch he was wearing. A light-based shielding system formed a flat surface atop his wrist. The frame was about the size of a large buckler; roughly 3 feet in diameter. Yzak held his arm in front of him and knelt down behind the green shield. The barrier gleamed with each shot it took from Mr. Pink's assault.

Yzak drew a long combat knife from his pocket and held it in his free hand. He crept towards Mr. Pink, deflecting the bullet fire with the shield as he approached. But when he came within a few feet of his target, Mr. Pink leapt into the air above him.

Yzak took two shots to the shoulder from above before raising his arm to position the shield above him. He screamed in pain as his jacket became stained with spreading blood. "Little _bastard_!"

Mr. Pink landed atop one of the arch gates of the walkway, firing another round of bullets before closing his mouth once again. He stopped to hop around and chirp. "Problem! Hard to fix problem!"

Yzak lowered his shield and looked at the smug face of Mr. Pink. He clicked another button on his wrist watch. "Dearka! Where the hell are you?!"

"Dude, I'm almost there." Dearka's voice replied. "I had to get permission to take the Buster out of storage and…"

"You're bringing the Buster?! Into _public_?!" Yzak yelled back.

"Well yeah, I mean I haven't gotten to ride it in a while and my car is a piece of crap, so… yeah!"

Yzak looked at Mr. Pink again. "Actually yeah, good idea!"

"Yeah! And I want everyone to be like 'Ohhh, look at that guy in his pimped-out mobile suit. He must be livin' in large!"

"Pimped out? I mean, sure it's a nice-looking mobile suit, but it's not like it looksany different than it did before, right?"

"Yep. Yeah… okay. Sure," Dearka said, before hanging up.

Mr. Pink opened his mouth again. A single nozzle appeared behind a small, blue flame. He leapt down toward Yzak, who raised his shield immediately. The small blue flame erupted into a violent jet of sweltering fire.

Yzak's light shield struggled to take the heat from Mr. Pink's flamethrower. It rapidly shone a pale red glow, echoing a crackling sound. The shield shattered into a million sharp glass splinters, littering the floor. He ducked under Mr. Pink before the flame could reach him, and gouged the dagger into the Haro's back. Mr. Pink turned around, letting out a painful scream, falling to the ground once again.

Yzak did not let his guard down as the murderer lay dead on the ground. At any moment, Mr. Pink could spring to life once again, bringing Yzak's life to a bloody, unexpected end. He stared at the Haro, never blinking from unfaltered focus. A minute passed by, then two, then three…

Mr. Pink has finally met his gruesome end. Yzak stood at ease, recovering his knife from the back of the wretched machine. A smile grew upon his face, and his eyes shone with victory. He had avenged the death of his former commander, as well as a yet unknown number of innocent victims. The watch on his arm beeped. Yzak pressed a small button on it.

"Hey Yzak, I'll be there in like three minutes. Did I miss anything?" Dearka's voice inquired.

"Well… you wouldn't believe it if I told you over the phone. But god damn, do I have a story to tell you when you get here!"

"Yeah, okay. You do this every time I'm late to something. I bet you've been standing there scratching your ass since you showed up."

Yzak chucked and turned around towards the mansion door. "Tch, just hurry up and get here, and I'll prove you wrong once again!"

Unknown to Yzak, Mr. Pink's eyes lit up shortly after he had turned around. He opened his mouth, brandishing a sparking cord.

Yzak continued to pal around on the phone with Dearka, laughing at his aggravation. He soon felt a horrible, painful shock in his lower back. His entire body jutted and sprung around with a powerful electric force. He managed to turn around to see that his spine had been pierced with a small drill, connected by a flexible cord, streaming a violent electrical current into it. His vision began to blur and his mouth drooled with blood. The electrical current soon ceased and Yzak fell unconscious to the pavement, his lower back bleeding from the drill wound.

"So yep, I'll be there in like a minute. Okay, Yzak? …Yzak? ...Dude?" Dearka's voice paused for a minute. "Guess you hung up. Bastard. _*click*"_


	6. New Ways!

All Haros' Eve

A Gundam SEED fanfiction by Mettool

NOTE: I do not own any of the characters, places, or other pre-existing material in Gundam SEED. This is a story based off of the aforementioned material.

Chapter 6: New ways!

Despite enduring years of neglect and lack of maintenance, the opera house always welcomed Lacus with open doors. Few people in the Cosmic Era appreciated the art of musical theatre like she did. As such, Lacus was the only company the opera house could look forward to a few times a month. She would pour her heart and talent into her talent as she sat on the stage before an audience of empty seats. But today was different; no voice could be heard echoing off the roof of the theatre.

Lacus sat on an empty wooden crate on the stage, silent and tranquil. She stared at the splintery floor, twiddling her thumbs and thinking to herself. It was the first time in many months that she could not find a reason to sing. Even in her worst times of doubt, she would always conjure up at least a somber nocturne to express through her lips. This time was different: the thoughts of what she had seen and experienced in such a short amount of time were racing through her head, stirring a volcano of doubt and grief. Nothing could get past her mind to her lips – it was clear through her eyes.

"Why is it that human beings always find a reason to kill one another?" she asked the silver Haro that she had bought with her. "We kill each other during times of war to prove a point… and when there is no war to be fought, we make up reasons to slaughter one another…"

"War is problem! Problem, Problem!" the silver Haro replied, floating laps around Lacus.

"It also makes you think, doesn't it? We've built all sorts of machines and weaponry dedicated to killing one another… be it mobile suits or nuclear warheads. Technology and money that we could have used to help make the world a better place…. It's all be used for the sake of killing," Lacus said, depressingly. "And… looking at Atrhun's body, we have not only invented new technology to kill people, but new ways to kill them. After all, are we are is flesh and blood…"

The silver Haro remained silent, but made a muffled "click" noise. His eyes began to blink blue instead of red.

"…new ways to kill them. After all, all we are is flesh and blood," said Mr. Pink in Lacus' voice to his battalion of Haros, his eyes blinking blue. He then clicked, ceasing the transmitted message.

"New ways! New Ways to fix problems!" the Haros babbled to one another as they hopped up and down on Yzak's unconscious body.

The body began to moan and breathe heavily. The Haros fell silent and stared at the rousing human. "My back… nnnngh," Yzak groaned. His first reaction was to reach down his back and touch his wound to assess it. But he found himself unable to move either of his arms.

"Wh-what? What's wrong with my arms? Why can't I- wait…!" Yzak looked to his left arm. His facial expression turned aghast as he saw that he was handcuffed to the back bumper of a police car. His other arm was bound the way to another car. Each of his legs were cuffed by the ankle to two more cars subsequently.

A tear came to Yzak's eye. He began to shiver and sweat. In truth, he had never thought in all of his years that his life would end in such a horrible way. "Little… fuckers…" he cursed under his clattering mouth.

"New ways! Fix problem!" Mr. Pink said aloud. The other Haros followed suit.

"Fix problem!" said the green Haro, peering back from the driver's seat window of one of the cars. The pupils of Yzak's terrified eyes shrank in blight as he heard the car's ignition turn on

"Fix problem!" the orange Haro followed. His car's ignition started as well.

"Fix problem!" said the blue Haro, and turned on his car.

Yzak screamed as loud as he could. "Death to you little monsters! Your end will come!" His heart was racing and he could no longer hold back the tears filling his eyes. He sniffled and sobbed, regretting ever leaving the house that day.

"Fix problem!" the purple Haro finally said and turned on the fourth and final car.

Yzak cherished his last moments… and regretted the things in life he never got to do. Not once in his life did he ever fall in love with a woman, nor did he get to experience the wonders of intercourse. Yzak was at the age in which losing one's virginity is a grand accomplishment for a boy. It was truly a sign of manhood among his peers, and he cried at the fact that he would never be able to cross that line. He would never experience the soft touch of a woman's skin, or the smooth emotion from her lips on his own. The pleasures of manhood were lost to this poor soul: parties, college, philosophy… all taken from him before his prime from these glorified robotic bowling balls. He then began to hate his life, wishing he could have experienced as much as everyone else instead of wasting his glory years in the military.

"Fix problem!" all the Haros chirped at once.

Mr. Pink hopped onto Yzak's stomach, looking at each of the cars. He nodded in approval. "Three…Two…One…"

Yzak's suddenly felt his heart turn to ice. In his mind, he was not prepared for his death in the least.

"FLOOR IT!" yelled Mr. Pink in all of his gusto.

And not even a moment later did Yzak hear the four police cars skidding their back tires against the pavement and pull forward. He yelled in horrible agony as all four of his limbs were dragged in all four directions. He felt the tendons and muscles in his arms tear apart from the shoulders, enduring painful rips and snapping shoulder blades. His legs dislocated immediately from the hips and the muscles tore themselves to shreds from the sheer force. Within seven seconds, the skin at Yzak's shoulders and hips began to rip open and spill blood all over the pavement below him. His clothes were stained with his precious body fluids, and he coughed up blood, vomiting it all over his chest.

A few seconds later, the force of the cars ripped all four of Yzak's limbs clear off of his torso. The cars revved forward, dragging a body part a few meters by the handcuffs until they came to a stop. Yzak screamed in agony, unable to move or talk as his spit blood and vomit into the air onto his face. Mr. Pink rolled over to his splattered face.

"Problem fixed," he said to Yzak, and donned a knife from his mouth. "Must commemorate."

Mr. Pink gnashed the dagger into Yzak's upper lip and slid it across the flesh of his face. It ran through his lip as if it were smooth butter and bled profusely as Mr. Pink carved a rather grotesque mustache into it.

Yzak gurgled on his own blood, coughing up chokingly. His eyes began to turn yellow as the blood poured from all over his body. His pupils fell silent and lifeless, as the coughing ceased and the twitching turned to mere spasms. Yzak's violated body fell silent; he saw death in the eyes.

The Haros turned their cars off and hopped out of the windows of their respective police cars, chirping happy nonsense as they circled laps around the limbless torso of the late Yzak Joule. Mr. Pink himself jumped up and down on the cadaver's stomach, flapping his ears and congratulating his faithful team for a problem well solved. Among their merriment, a loud slamming noise was hear not too far off. The Haros turned their attention to the direction from whence it came. Mr. Pink spotted a familiar-looking shape past the boughs of the oak trees: it was a Gundam's headpiece. The Buster had landed and arrived in front of the mansion.

Dearka cringed inside the Buster's cockpit as he heard a car alarm blaring off directly below him. He looked directly beneath him and saw that there was a now totally wrecked pickup truck underneath the Buster's right foot. He looked around hurriedly to see if anyone had noticed his embarrassment. Thankfully no one was in sight, since the whole street in front of the mansion had been barricaded off by the police earlier that day. For good measure, he scraped the Buster's foot along the ground to peel the wrecked truck off, and then hurled it into the distance in hopes that nobody would notice it was missing. Meanwhile, he whistled innocently the whole time.

Dearka turned on his radio and called into it. "Yeah well I'm here now. Do you know what kind of traffic I had to endure to get here?"

"No traffic," a voice replied back.

"…Okay fine, you got me. I flew here. And I hope you're happy because I missed whipped cream night at the fetish club _for the second week in a row_."

"Happy! So happy!" the voice replied again.

"You're such a smart-aleck, you know that? So, where are you exactly? I wanna show you my improvements to the Buster!" Dearka replied excitedly. The Buster didn't look much different from before, other than the giant letter "D" that Dearka had spray-painted onto its chest. There were also blinking strobe lights slapped everywhere on the frame. And for some reason, Dearka thought it was a great idea to put a giant pair of sunglasses on the Buster's head. One of his neighbors complained that it was "the most disrespectful Christmas tree he had ever laid eyes on."

"Wait. We come."

"We? Who's 'we'? ….Yzak? You there?"

There was no reply. Dearka began to wait impatiently for Yzak to appear at the front gate, which was bent from the truck leaning up against it. He waited for a minute or two before he started to groan and ease back into the chair of the cockpit.

"Pretty problem," said a voice from below.

Dearka looked down: Mr. Pink was floating in front of the main gate, looking up at the Buster.

"What the hell are you supposed to be? A Pokemon?" Dearka yelled down at Mr. Pink.

"Yzak?"

"Yes, the imbecile who's supposed to be here."

"Don't know him," Mr. Pink chirped back in a smart-mouthed tone.


End file.
